Freaky Tuesday
by Honoria Glossop
Summary: A short story I wrote awhile ago. I can't think of anything to do with it, so I'm just making it a one parter. R/Hr, you've been warned, people.


Disclaimer: All characters belong to JK Rowling. I'm not going to say who's in this one, because it'll spoil the story. ;) 

**Author's Note: I thought this up a couple of nights ago at about 2 or 3 in the morning, my muse kept me up all night complaining about my writer's block.     Has anyone ever seen that NutriGrain bar commercial with the lady and her husband in the apartment getting dressed for "Tom's wedding"? That's the setting for this, it's the COOLEST apartment I've ever seen!
**

Freaky Tuesday 

    Something very soft, almost like raspberries, was poking her in the eye. Hard. Hermione sunk her head deeper into the pillow, struggled to free her hands from under the bedclothes and swatted at whatever it was. The something or another vanished for a moment and she was just about to fall back asleep when it was suddenly in her ear, poking at it as thought it was trying to walk on her face. 

     "No, no, no! G-go away, go away!" she murmured. It was late, why couldn't she sleep tonight? There was a loud apologetic purring and she opened her eyelids to see a pair of yellow eyes staring back at her. "Oh, Crookshanks..." Hermione sighed, irritated that her ginger cat would be waking her up so early in the morning, she had classes today! 

    Well, she was awake now. No use trying to sleep anymore. She sat up, pulled the sheets down and laid her feet on the floor. Crookshanks dashed off the bed and into the darkness of the room. Squinting in the dusk, she realized something was very different about the dorm room. Wasn't she at Hogwarts? Hermione stood up and gasped. She certainly was a lot taller than usual, maybe it was from sleep deprivation. Putting a hand to her head, she blinked several times and looked around. No, she wasn't in her dormitory. 

    It was a large and spacious room, with faint outlines of furniture and doorways here and there, and she was standing on a large rug. Hermione turned around and almost cried out. The wall directly behind the head of her bed was definitely not a wall, but what appeared to be a 12 foot high set of windows going straight up to the ceiling! She reached up and pushed the half-way pulled curtains all the way open. Far away and beyond there stood majestically tall buildings with lights flickering everywhere. 

    Where was she? Fumbling around in the darkness, she found a small lamp next to where she had stood up. There was a doorway straight ahead, and without looking around what was obviously her oversized bedroom once more, walked through it. Where was her wand when she needed it? 

    Hermione reached for a lightswitch and the whole room lit up. It was a kitchen, well furbished but immaculate. Black and white tiles graced the floor and a stainless steel sink sparkled in a corner, above that was a blue vase with a single Coriopsis growing in it. She looked carefully around and decided nothing in here could help her figure out where she was. 

    A set of swinging doors to the left beckoned her onward, and she scuffled across the floor towards them. There was a light already on in here, but very faint. Plush, overstuffed furniture greeted her cheerfully, and an old shelf of red, green, and blue leather-bound books went up to the ceiling, as did most other things in this house, she noticed. 

    Something glittering at the far wall caught her eye just as she was about to leave the room and go back into the kitchen. A mirror, perhaps? Hermione stepped carefully over a few footstools that were carelessly placed next to the sofas and stepped in front of it. 

     "Oh my God..." Sure enough, it was her reflection, but for some reason it didn't look like the 15 year old Hermione she had seen in the mirror that morning when she had combed her hair. 

    In fact, she looked 10 years older, besides her messy hair and rumpled nightclothes. She was taller, thinner, and most definitely older. Hermione brought her hands up to her face, then turned them quickly over to stare at the well-manicured nails, so unlike her normal ones. So she was 10 years older. But how? 

    Something wrapped around one of her fingers made a sickening feeling rise up in her throat, and she turned towards the light to gaze at her hands again. A well-cut ring around the slender fourth finger of her left hand. She was married? 

    This was turning out to be a nightmare. Hundreds of questions flicked back and forth, back and forth through her mind, too quick to even register for her to ask herself. Hermione stood tall and almost jogged back into the kitchen. She needed to hang on to something before she collapsed. Grasping the edges of the stainless steel sink, she stared out the window at the glittering lights. 

    How was she ever going to get back to Hogwarts? Where was her wand? Why was she suddenly 10 years older? Wait-maybe this was all a bad dream! Hermione was just about to reach out and pinch her arm when someone-or something-grabbed her arm. 

    Fearing it was a burglar, she screamed out on instinct and whirled around. A large hand clamped down over her mouth, and the screaming lingered in her throat. Getting a better look at her assailant, Hermione caught a pair of hazel-coloured bloodshot eyes and a deadpan expression under a messy mop of orange hair as she stared at the face looming almost a full foot above hers. The young man leaned over and stared directly at her. 

     "Are you going to scream again?" She shook her head furiously. He let go of her face and brushed back a long strand of reddish hair. He was very freckled. Afraid to ask who he was, she managed to croak, 

     "What are you doing in here?" He yawned and shuffled over to one of the cabinets, opened it, and took out a large tea kettle. He filled it with water from the sink, set it on the stove, turned it on, and yawned again. 

     "Came to see why you were up. Have you got insomnia again?" So he knew her. Was this her husband? Hermione looked him up and down, almost laughing out loud at his maroon silk pyjamas and maroon slippers. So it was Ron! Hermione chuckled and shook her head. 

     "No, no." He gave her a funny look and a sardonic smile. 

     "Worried about the wedding tomorrow?" Wedding? What wedding? She desperately tried to make something up off the top of her head. 

     "Oh, sure! You know, pre-wedding jitters! Of course, we won't be able to see each other, tradition, to be sure..." Ron (she guessed it was, anyway) threw back his head and laughed, a solid tenor voice echoing around the kitchen. 

     "No, no, no! Don't be silly! Not OUR wedding, that was 4 years ago! I'm talking about Harry and Ginny's wedding! You do remember she made you the Maid of Honour, don't you?" Hermione opened and closed her mouth several times. OUR wedding? Harry...and Ginny...engaged? This wasn't happening, this was all a bad dream! 

     "Listen...Ron, dear...you don't quite understand, I'm not-" 

     "Oh, don't go telling me you're nervous, are you, love? It's only a wedding!" 

     "No, I'm not nervous, but I need you to listen to me..." Ron got a very serious look on his face and leaned over, as he was much taller than she recognized him to be, putting a hand on her shoulder and looking into her eyes again. 

     "Hermione. You absolutely promised Ginny that you would be the Maid of Honour. I sincerely hope that you aren't going to bail out on my little sister." Hermione was about to respond when a whistle came from the stove. Ron stood up and took the teapot off the burner with a potholder. 

    Pretty soon, they were both sitting at a small black table hidden in a corner of the kitchen next to yet another window, sipping iced tea out of huge white latte cups and listening to an old version of "Night and Day" on an odd-looking CD player. It was the future, Hermione reminded herself. 

     "Sergio Mendes and Brasil '66," Ron told her with a smile. "Remember?" And despite the fact that she honest-to-goodness did not, she smiled at him, took a sip of tea and nodded. Hermione gazed out the window and watched the yellow and red lights flicker on and off in the tall dark buildings for a long time until she realized Ron was talking to her. 

     "-and of course, I'll have to come pick you up at the Ministry at 3 so we can rush back to the apartment, change clothes and be off to the chapel at 5. Hermione? Hermione...are you listening?" She jerked to attention. 

     "Hmm? Oh, yes. You're going to pick me up at the Ministry at 3 so we can come home, change, and be off to the chapel by 5. Do continue." 

     "Alright. Say, did you ever talk to Percy about that new proposed law about the Wolfsbane potion? You remember how Fudge could never get that passed, I'm surprised you didn't pass it sooner, what with Lupin being our professor and all." 

    Hermione nodded as she sipped more tea, anxious not to say too much and wondering at the same time what her position at the Ministry was and what Ron did. As though to answer her silent question, he set down his cup, rested his head in his hands with elbows on the table and smiled at her in admiration. She paused drinking for a moment. 

     "What? Why are you looking at me like that?" Hermione tried hard to put a little amused note in her voice. Ron sighed. 

     "I don't know, I guess I just never guessed that you would be Ministress of Magic so soon, I mean you're only 25-" Hermione choked back what could have been a rather nasty episode of tea going all over poor Ron and the table. She forced a smile. 

     "Oh, I'm glad you're happy," she offered, wishing she knew what had happened in the 10 years that seemed to have passed rather quickly. 

     "Yes," Ron sighed again. Hermione decided to venture a vague question. 

     "What about you?" He turned from staring out the window to her. 

     "Hmm?" 

     "Do you enjoy your work?" Ron laughed. 

     "Well, if you classify being a so-called 'Noted Chess Master' a profession, then yes, I do enjoy it." So he did go into chess, after all. 

     "That's good." They sat in the darkness of the kitchen, gazing out the window at the city for what seemed to be a lifetime until finally Ron said: 

     "We'd better sleep sometime, Harry and Ginny will be wondering why we're so tired." They stood, washed and dried the latte cups, and went to bed.


End file.
